writer

Since I’ve started writing a novel, I feel like my mind is in a constant state of playing everything out. There’s a movie on loop playing in my head. I’m always thinking about what could happen, or what my characters are doing, and I’m pretty sure it’s driving me to the brink of insanity. Which sounds kind of thrilling, but it’s actually pretty terrifying when you can’t concentrate on anything else. It’s starting to seep into my dreams at night, too, and since my novel is a murder mystery/teen sleuth, this isn’t bringing along dreams of playful puppies tumbling down a field of wildflowers and kittens cuddling underneath a Skittles rainbow. My dreams are more in the realm of brutal slayings, the decapitation of pedophiles, and throwing a stabby porcupine at an unsuspecting stranger’s face. Anybody up for some free acupuncture? It’s an intense way to wake up every morning. Which leads me to a question Alex and I discussed at length yesterday:

If the person you love most in this world (spouse/boyfriend/girlfriend/sister/best friend/whatever) killed a pedophile instead of reporting it to police, would you flee the country/hide with them or turn them in? The pedophile wasn’t attacking anyone, or doing anything at the time your person found out so it wasn’t self defense, they were just angry and wanted to end him for being a sick fuck. Are you turning them in because you want nothing to do with it? Or do you love them to the point you are willing to give up your life to protect them and live on the run? I’m curious what your answers are, because Alex and I had opposing ones. Dun dun dun…

Also, how do you not become so consumed by what you’re writing about? Is this normal? I’m assuming this is why most creative artists are the depressive type. Pretty soon I’m going to be shaving my head and chanting around a bonfire in my backyard wearing nothing but nipple tassels and a baby diaper. Okay, probably not, but you see where I’m going.